


please do not hurt me, love

by dollylux



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Cold Weather, Homelessness, M/M, Soup Kitchens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8959006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: Lukas volunteers at a soup kitchen in Queens on Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riyku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riyku/gifts).



> day seven of 12 days of xmas challenge. prompt: christmas herbs.
> 
> (title from 10am gare du nord by keaton henson.)
> 
> for kc<3

Lukas had fought it like hell for awhile, but here he is.

Dad had said it would look good to sponsors, giving back to the community and all that. After they’d looked into it and realized the homeless problem in Tivoli and Red Hook was basically non-existent, they searched further.

Poughkeepsie would’ve been easier, sure, but everybody knows that the city’s got soup kitchens in spades.

The one Lukas ends up at is in Queens, and he’d frozen his nuts off on the drive up on Christmas Day. They’d done Christmas the night before so he could leave early, just in case he got lost in the city.

Of course he got lost in the city.

“You’re late,” is the first thing he hears when he walks in the door, assaulted by blasting heat and the smell of overcooked carrots.

“Sorry,” is all he says as he hurries to the back, looking for a place to put his helmet and jacket down. The woman from up front follows him back, and he nearly runs into her in the doorway.

“You ready?” she asks, fully expecting him to say no.

“Yeah!” he says with false cheer, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. “Here and ready to work! What should I do first?”

“Mm,” is all she says, side-eyeing him like she doesn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. (Though Lukas doesn’t doubt that she could actually throw him pretty damn far.) “C’mon, then.”

“You seem like a strong boy,” she starts, coming to a stop next to countless stacks of plates on top of stainless steel counters. “Go fill up the plate dispensers up front with these.”

Lukas stares at the towering plates, swallows hard.

“All of them?” he asks.

Another wilting glance from her has him scurrying into action.

 _Sponsors_ , he thinks, hefting his first of dozens of armfuls of plates from the counter and lugging them up front. _Sponsors._

By noon, he’s so exhausted he could fall over. Everything’s ready though, all the food made, plates stacked, tea and coffee prepared, and every single one of the volunteers is wearing a Santa hat.

Even Lukas.

“Alright,” the woman, whose name Lukas now knows is Angelia, calls. “Let’s get ‘em in here!”

The doors open, and a snowy gust of wind blows into the room and straight to Lukas’s bones. He shivers and pushes down the sleeves of his flannel shirt, nervous where he stands behind the mountains of mashed potatoes. People are pouring into the large cafeteria-style room, and it never seems to really stop.

Lukas watches wide-eyed, taking in the sight of all of them in their layers upon layers of clothes, their wide, hungry eyes, their cold-beaten faces. His stomach drops at the sight of them, at the reality of them, his hands gripping the edge of the table as they draw nearer.

He can’t believe there are this many homeless people out there. This many people who had to sleep out in that awful weather last night, who probably didn’t have breakfast this morning. 

It hits him like a punch that this is just one neighborhood in Queens. There are so many more out there. So many more.

“H-Hi,” he mumbles shyly to the woman who sidles up to him with her plate, her red-tipped fingers gripping the sides as she holds it out for mashed potatoes. “Happy holidays.”

When his trays of mashed potatoes run out, more replace them. The line of people never seems to end, never seems to get shorter. There are people eating on the floor, leaning against the wall, all of them hunkered down and focused, quiet, the room filled with the sounds of silverware on hard plastic plates and a few wet coughs.

Lukas has forgotten how tired he is, how uncomfortable he is, how out of his element. He finds himself meeting the eyes of every single person who stops in front of him, if they look up, giving them a real smile and a greeting, no matter what. His throat is dry after nearly two hours, and he’s hoarse from talking, but there’s a feeling settling warm and low in his belly that he’s never experienced before, a kind of grateful satisfaction that has tears burning in the back of his eyes for most of the afternoon.

He takes a five-minute break to piss and down a bottle of water, but he’s back on line as soon as he can be, grabbing up his big spoon with his cramped arm, eyes wide and ready to meet the next person’s who comes to him for food.

When dull brown eyes meet his own, he smiles, automatic. Then he lets himself look at the rest of the face.

“Happy ho--”

The rest of the face is beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that Lukas drops his spoon. Mashed potatoes fly everywhere as the spoon clatters to the table, smattering his shirt and his face. He closes his eyes for a second as his face floods with heat, and he opens them to find the boy grinning at him, trying unsuccessfully to hold in a laugh.

“Nice,” the boy teases, his whole face lit up under his black beanie, little curls of brown sticking out along the sides of his face. Lukas laughs, sharp and surprised, fumbling around to find the spoon blindly because he cannot look away from this boy, from that spoon-dropping pretty face.

“Hey, shut up,” Lukas throws back with absolutely no heat, and he smirks as he dips the spoon into the mashed potatoes and hefts some onto the offered plate. “My arm is killin’ me.”

“Oh, poor baby,” the boy says with an exaggerated pout, glancing down at his plate just as his stomach growls, too loud for either of them to ignore. He grimaces and looks up at Lukas through his lashes, his smile gone as his cheeks pink up.

“Hey, uh. You want some gravy?” Lukas asks, stirring the pot of runny brown gravy before lifting up a ladleful of it with a hesitant smile. The boy wrinkles his nose and Lukas laughs, dropping the ladle back into the pot and looking down at it in very thinly-veiled disgust.

“Yeah, it looks like--” he cuts himself off and glances back at Angelia who is watching him with a warning glare that reminds him of his dad. He jerks back around and clears his throat, trying on his professional face again. “A-Anyway. Enjoy it. I hope it tastes good.”

“Better than nothing,” the boy replies, giving Lukas one last smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a beat of silence passing between them that packs a punch like Lukas has never felt before. He watches helplessly as the boy walks away, drifting through the thick crowd of people and crouching down in an empty space next to a trashcan, his plate balanced on his knees.

The clearing of a throat brings him back into himself, and he blinks quickly when he realizes there are tears in his eyes. An elderly man stands in front of him with a calm smile and a plate with small helpings lifted in his shaky hands.

“I only need just a little, son,” he says to Lukas.

 

An hour later, they run out of food. A crew comes in to start clearing away empty plates so they can wash them, and Lukas leans back against the concrete wall and watches all the movement around him, the people eating dessert and talking, lingering for the warmth, some of them laughing like this is exactly where they want to be.

“Good job, Mr. Waldenbeck,” Angelia says, scratching something on her clipboard and giving him a tired smile when Lukas looks up. “You’ve been a big help today. You’re welcome back any time.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” he says, and he means it. “Do you guys need any more help or--”

“No, no. Plenty of people to do cleanup. You’re free to go. Enjoy the rest of your day.” A tight squeeze on his arm and she’s gone, onto the next person. Lukas takes his time walking to the back for his jacket and helmet, and he’s surprised when he steps outside and finds the boy still there, leaning against the side of the building and staring up at the sky beyond the abandoned warehouse across the street.

“Weird how sunsets are pretty no matter where you are,” he says, hands in his pockets, his eyes never leaving the sky even as he addresses Lukas.

Lukas walks over and stands next to him, the brick cold against his back, even through his jacket. He follows the boy’s eyes and finds that he’s right: beautiful, dreamy sprawls of purple and hot pink and orange paint the sky, stars peeking through from behind. They stay just like that for awhile, shoulders touching, a ghost of warmth.

“I’m Lukas,” he says after a long time, his voice quiet to match the dusk.

“Philip,” the boy says, wrapping his arms around himself and hunkering down as the snow starts to fall again, soft and pretty and dotting his dark knit hat.

“You, uh. Maybe wanna go for a ride?” Lukas asks, glancing over to catch his expression. “I can drop you off wherever you want. I’m just starving, and I don’t get to the city much, and--”

“Yeah, sure,” Philip shrugs, pushing away from the wall and trying hard to look disinterested. Lukas is a master of that face. He leads him to the back of the building where his bike is parked, and he gives the boy the helmet to put on, helps him get it down over his head so he can see out of it.

“Looks good on you,” Lukas says with a grin, tugging on the bottom of it before throwing a leg over his bike and sinking down on the seat. Philip climbs on behind him, his body so warm and solid along Lukas’s back, his arms thin when they hug around Lukas’s chest.

“Ready?” he asks, not starting the bike up until Philip nods.

Lukas has no idea where he’s going so they just end up riding around for awhile, his face completely frozen from exposure to the frigid air, but he feels happy, content almost. And it seems like maybe Philip is enjoying this just as much as he is, like he’s totally okay with spending his Christmas night riding on the back of some strange kid’s bike around Queens and then Brooklyn, and finally over the bridge and into Manhattan.

They stop in Nolita and park in front of a pizza joint that looks open, and Lukas wipes his runny, frozen nose on his sleeve when they climb off the bike and Philip takes off his helmet.

“Gross!” Philip laughs, shoving Lukas with his elbow before handing him the helmet back. They knock against each other and stay there, arms brushing as they wade through the slush on the sidewalk and into Lombardi’s.

They order a large margherita pizza and two root beers and sit at the table right in front of the window overlooking the quiet, white street. Lukas watches with amusement as Philip shakes out enough parmesan cheese to cover the entire slice of pizza on his plate before he picks it up, pink tongue sliding out to catch the point of it to take a big bite.

“So, where’re you from?” he asks, talking as he chews, wiping his fingers on a thin napkin from the dispenser. “You’re clearly not from the city.”

“Oh, am I that obvious?” Lukas grins, tearing into his crust first and eating it in large, relishing bites. “From a couple of hours north. Town called Tivoli.”

“Hm,” Philip says, taking another bite and nodding, fingers wiping again and again on his greasy napkin. “I bet it’s pretty up there.”

“Yeah,” Lukas shrugs, tearing his eyes away from Philip to watch a couple walk by with a big, fuzzy white dog. “It is. There’s just not shit to do up there. Gets boring real fast.”

“Is that why you ride that bike?” Philip is somehow already done with his slice of pizza and he’s already reaching for a second one before something occurs to him and he stops, looking up at Lukas with wide, questioning eyes.

“Yeah, man, help yourself. Please. This thing is freakin’ huge.” He pushes the pie closer to Philip and tries to ignore the dull ache in his chest. “And, yeah. The bike. I’m into motocross. Do you know what that is?”

“No idea,” Philip mumbles around pizza, his eyes sparkling as he gives him a fat-cheeked smile.

“Well, anyway. It’s what I’m into. I’m hopin’ to get a sponsorship. Get the hell outta Tivoli. So, that’s why I--”

He stops himself, looking down at his pizza, busying himself with folding it in half to better stuff in his mouth.

“Why you what?” Philip’s onto his third napkin, and his drink is nearly empty, so Lukas lifts a hand to silently ask for another root beer for him.

“Why, I, uh. Came into the city today. Helped out down there. Sponsors like that. If you’re well-rounded, I guess.” He’s surprisingly ashamed as he says it, and he avoids Philip’s eyes and concentrates on taking as big of a bite of pizza as possible so he doesn’t have to talk for a minute.

“Makes sense,” is all Philip says, and he doesn’t look offended or disgusted when Lukas meets his eyes again. Lukas gives him a smile, licking the grease from his lips and his fingertips before reaching out for a second slice of his own.

“So, um.” Lukas shifts in his chair, not really sure how to go about talking to somebody who doesn’t have a home, who doesn’t have a life anything like his. Philip watches him with those dark eyes of his, waits out his nervousness, munching on his pizza crust while he waits. 

“So, do you, like. Live in Queens, or,” Lukas finally asks, giving a little smile to the woman who brings them both a second bottle of cold root beer. “Or… or what?”

“I live in Manhattan right now, actually,” Philip replies easily, finishing off his first root beer with a surprisingly unshy burp. His lips are bright pink from the spice in the sauce and slick with grease. It makes Lukas lick his own mouth. “Trinity Place Shelter in Morningside Heights.”

“Oh,” Lukas says, surprised. He twists his bottle around, fingertips soaking up the frosty condensation. He doesn't ask him what he was doing all the way in Queens, can tell by his tone that there's probably a long story there, one he doesn't want to tell. At least not yet. “Good. I’m glad you have a place to sleep. That’s… that’s real good.”

“It’s a place just for gay kids, so it’s really amazing,” Philip continues, and that word makes Lukas look up, his eyes huge, movements paused. Philip watches Lukas with increasingly guarded eyes, and his shoulders are curled in after an extended, awkward pause, eyes dropping to his plate. 

“So you’re… you’re gay?” Lukas asks, his heart hammering loud in his chest at the confirmation, and he can feel the heat spreading over his pale skin, so embarrassingly obvious.

“Yeah,” Philip says, terse, his mouth thinning out as he sits back. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Lukas says quickly, snapping himself out of it as he shakes his head way too much and reaches for his pizza again just for something to do. “No, I don’t care. I mean… it’s. It’s whatever.”

“Right,” Philip says, and it sounds like an eyeroll. The silence rolls over them as they both keep eating and keep their eyes down, the otherwise empty restaurant doing nothing to break the quiet.

“I’ve got a girlfriend,” Lukas offers, not really sure why he says it, but he can tell it’s the wrong thing to say the minute it leaves his mouth. “Her… her name is Rose.”

“Good for you.”

Philip is watching the street outside now, completely checked out from the conversation, from whatever it was that was happening between them, and Lukas’s heart sinks. He grabs a handful of napkins and wipes his fingers off obsessively, his cheeks flushed as he tries half a dozen times to say something else, anything else.

“So, do you go to school?” he finally comes up with, grabbing another slice even though he’s mostly full. He realizes that he doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to go home just yet, doesn’t want to just release this boy back out into the world to lose forever.

“Obviously,” Philip laughs, the sound more cruel than amused. His feelings are hurt, Lukas realizes. “I’m a junior.”

“Hey, me, too,” Lukas says, smiling for the coincidence. 

“Small world,” Philip replies. He reaches for his own third slice, grabs the parmesan shaker.

“Hey, listen. I’m… Sorry about how I reacted a minute ago. When you told me you were gay. It doesn’t bother me. I was just… surprised, is all. There aren’t that many, um. Gay people in Tivoli.”

“I’m sure there’s a couple,” Philip says almost pointedly, but he sighs almost immediately after, some of the held-in tension leaving him, making him soften up again. It’s a beautiful thing to witness. “It’s okay. Sorry. I’m just… even in the city, there are assholes. I’ve gotten my face beat in more than once for accidentally making eye contact with the wrong homophobe.”

“Gimme a list of names,” Lukas tells him, and he’s serious, but it makes Philip smile, big and bright with bits of basil in his teeth.

“Shut up,” Philip laughs quietly, reaching over to smack Lukas on the cheek with a soft pat of fingers. And maybe it’s stupid, but it makes Lukas light up like a fucking Christmas tree.

They finish off the entire pie between them, and Lukas pays their bill with his allowance, making sure to leave a big tip for the tired waitress having to work on Christmas. 

Trinity Place Shelter is on the other side of the island, in Morningside Heights near Harlem, and it takes them awhile to get there. Lukas follows Philip’s silent directions, the gentle squeezes to his right or left side to send him down different streets, and he’s surprised when they pull up to the river, stopping along the docks.

They climb off again and Philip hands the helmet back, not meeting Lukas’s eyes. Lukas hangs the helmet off the bike and prays silently that it doesn’t get stolen, and when he opens his mouth to ask Philip why they’re here, Philip interrupts him.

“I just… don’t wanna go back yet,” he says softly, his eyes down as he tugs on his sleeves, pulling them over his hands.

“Me either,” Lukas replies, bumping their shoulders together and starting off down the docks, toward one of the empty piers.

There’s not a soul out tonight, at least not here, and he finds himself wanting to reach out and grab Philip’s hand, warm it in his own, to feel the cold press of his fingertips. It makes his belly swoop, this feeling, makes him feel terrified and happy in a way he never has with girls, not even Rose. 

They work together to wipe snow away from the end of a pier, and Lukas’s ass starts to freeze the second he sits down.

“J-Jesus,” he chatters, shifting to get closer to Philip when he settles in, too, huddling with him for warmth. “My balls are gonna fall off.”

Philip laughs, pressing his shoulder to Lukas’s and keeping it there.

“I’m still not used to it,” he says, staring off at the dark, polluted Hudson, at Jersey glittering beyond. “My mom and I used to be homeless, really homeless. We’d sleep outside on nights colder than this. And we just… did it. You know? We had to. It was so cold, I’ve just made myself forget. Like maybe I just don’t have room for it in my brain or something.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Lukas replies, glancing over at him, at the curves of his profile, his sweaty, messy hair now that he’s taken off his beanie, his fairy-tipped ears and nose and sad, sad eyes. “Leave room for some good things.”

“Yeah, like what?” Philip huffs, almost too quiet to hear. Lukas’s heart is racing deafeningly loud in his ears, his whole body preparing for what his heart won’t let him not do.

“Like… maybe like this,” he murmurs, angling toward him just enough to run the tip of his nose over the cover of Philip’s jaw, up over his cold cheek where his lips close in their first, nervous kiss. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Philip’s wet, dragging inhale, to feel the softness of his skin move against his lips when Philip turns toward him, underwater-slow, and lets his mouth hover just barely against Lukas’s.

It’s the sweetest kiss Lukas has ever had, and he knows it immediately that it’s special, This is special. He opens his mouth and lets his tongue dip out, a quiet noise catching in his throat when it meets the wet tip of Philip’s own. They sink in together then, both turning toward each other and reaching for clothes, for bodies, Lukas cups Philip’s face and stretches so that he’s hovering over him, just a little, drawing that mouth up and sucking hard on his soft, pink bottom lip.

He tames Philip’s curls while he feeds on his mouth, tucking the longest ones behind his ear and twisting them around his fingers just to feel them spring back, stubborn and thick and lovely. His lips go numb after awhile but it just makes it better, dreamier, and he’s breathing hard and ragged when they finally break apart, their foreheads resting together, mouths huffing hot air on each other’s chilled faces.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells him on a sigh, closing his eyes in sudden shyness at how soft he’s being, how honest. He ignores the disapproving glare of his father in his mind, the terror that he’ll inevitably feel later when he’s alone and back at home again, where Philip will be far enough away to feel like a fever dream.

Philip’s smile nuzzles along his cheek, dropping kitten-soft kisses along his cheek before coming to a stop at his ear. He breathes there, quiet and steady, and Lukas realizes they’re holding each other, arms wrapped, hands petting, adoring like they were both waiting for someone to do this with, to be this tender with.

“That was my first kiss,” Philip whispers in his ear, followed by a little huff of laughter. Lukas grins, can’t help it, pulling back to meet Philip’s eyes in the near dark.

“So?” he asks, thumb stroking over the side of Philip’s ruined mouth. “How was it?”

“Too short,” Philip replies, biting his bottom lip as he grabs the front of Lukas’s jacket and tugs him back in, both of them smiling as their mouths meet again. 

 

There are only a few lights on in the shelter when they finally make it, and Lukas climbs off the bike after Philip, taking the helmet from him and wrapping an arm around him immediately, pulling him in close. 

He already misses him.

“So, you’ll come into the city next weekend?” Philip asks between the kisses Lukas can’t stop dropping on his swollen, willing mouth, body so pliant at the way Lukas tugs and pulls on him. “You promise.”

“I swear,” Lukas corrects, lifting up to drop a kiss to the tip of Philip’s nose and sighing there. “Email me. As soon as you go in there. So I have something to read when I get home.”

“I will.” They’re standing so close Lukas swears he hears their bones creak together, and his forehead hurts from the almost rough press against Philip’s. His fingers tighten in their grip on his jacket just before Philip takes a step back, pulling out of Lukas’s hold until only their fingers are linked.

“Okay, well,” Lukas says, his throat tight, chest aching as he stares and stare at him, reminding himself that he’s got pictures on his phone now, of Philip and of both of them together, that he’s got his email and the number to the shelter. He’s not just going to lose him. “Sleep tight.”

“Be careful,” Philip replies, licking his lips in such a pretty way that Lukas immediately wants to go after him, to grip at his tight little body again, to taste deep in Philip’s mouth, look for places that his tongue hasn’t found yet.

Lukas tugs the helmet on and climbs on the bike again, giving Philip one last look before he starts it up, the sound of it breaking into the night, probably driving the people in the shelter crazy.

The last thing he sees before he pulls out is Philip’s grin, and he takes it with him all the way back to Tivoli to tide him over until he sees him again.


End file.
